


Lipstick

by Shakespeares_Girl



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Glam Rock RPF, Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Adam Lambert - Freeform, Fic, M/M, RPS - Freeform, Tommy Ratliff - Freeform, kiss fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shakespeares_Girl/pseuds/Shakespeares_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was supposed to be a fill for the H/C Bingo square "magical trouble", because I was going to have Tommy's "miss u" text magically conjure Adam, only Adam is *wrong* and then *real* Adam shows up and they have to figure out how to get rid of not!Adam and then there was going to be kissing, but.  But this is so incredibly *not* that fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lipstick

Tommy's still dolled up from his night on the town when he sends the text, curled around his pillow, still wearing the studded jeans and the high-heeled boots Sutan had poured him into.

 _miss u. wish u wre here to smrear my lipstic_

He buries his face in the pillow, feeling let-down and awkward and off-center. Going out without Adam always does that to him, especially when he's in LA and Adam's off hell knows where doing press or attending an event. He really hates this, the forced seperation, but he bears it for the moments he does get to spend with Adam. He wishes Adam could have seen him tonight, makeup done all 1950's beauty queen, red lips and heavy liner on the upper lids. His bangs kept falling in one eye, and Sutan insisted it made him look sultry. He just felt sad, really. Lonely.

Fuck, he is such a teenage girl.

Before he can do anymore wallowing—or talk himself out of wallowing and then wallow anyway—his phone buzzes against his hip. Tommy fishes it out and opens the text message.

 _aw, baby. u miss me that much?_

Tommy replies instantly. _yes._

 _come stand oustide ur house. 2 mins and i'll have a sruprise 4 u._

He gets up slowly, pulls his leather jacket back on and steps into his boots without bothering to lace them up. It's about two minutes later that he makes it out onto his front porch. It's cold outside, especially for a place like LA, where sunshine and balmy weather are year-round events. He shivers a little, trying to figure out what it is he's waiting for. And then he sees it.

A sleek, shiny black Mustang purrs around the corner and parks in front of his house and no fucking way. No fucking _way_. It can't be Adam, Tommy's got his schedule memorized and Adam doesn't get home until tomorrow night, and even then it's only for a tiny little sliver of time before he has to whisk off overseas again. So this can't be _Adam_ , much as Tommy wants it to be.

He stares, disbelieving as a tall, dark haired, blue eyed figure gets out of the car and trots up the walk to where Tommy's standing. “How—you aren't supposed to be— _how_?” Tommy sputters.

“Three separate shows cancelled on me,” Adam shrugs. “They've all rescheduled, or agreed to do phone interviews instead, but it means I don't have to stay on the East coast tonight, so I came here. And I don't have to leave for Europe for an extra day, too.”

“You—you're here,” Tommy says stupidly, and Adam's hand comes up and cups his face, rubs his thumb over Tommy's cheekbone. “Oh my god.”

“Sweetheart,” Adam sighs, and leans down for a kiss.  "Missed you," he whispers just before their lips meet, and Tommy wraps his arms around Adam's neck, and he's home.


End file.
